


Ink and Blood

by DragonMaster65 (firelord65)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/DragonMaster65
Summary: Katara seeks out tattooing as a means of connecting with her separated brother, until she takes it a few steps too far.





	Ink and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is set in an AU that I'd set up ages ago in "Alternate Schooling." It's a sort of muddled mix of A:TLA verse with modern elements. Additionally, there's an aspect of class divide that should be apparent of benders and non-benders being separated to a certain degree.
> 
> Pro Bending Circuit Info:
> 
> Round Three: Strange Addictions  
> Prompt: Each team-mate will write a story about a character (or characters) battling an addiction, and the reaction and consequence of someone else finding out.  
> Bonus Prompts: Glove (Object), Exactly one person has Dialogue (Restriction)  
> Word Count: 1616

The first time she walked into June’s shop, Katara was halfway through a bottle of scotch and fully invested in her drunken decision. June wouldn’t work on someone who was wasted, no matter how earnestly they insisted on it. Katara walked away with the artist’s availability and a “consultation” piece sketched on her shoulder in marker. It was the best that she’d get. 

The light in the washroom seared Katara’s eyes in the morning. Emptying her stomach burned her throat and broke the weak dam keeping back frustrated tears. Her fingers traced the band drawn around her arm. June would have to do better on the actual piece. The width was all wrong for a classic Water Nation design. 

Without her liquid courage, it would take her another week to get the courage to hop on the tram out of her district to where the artist had her shop. Katara hadn’t set an appointment, either, and wasted most of the night as June touched up a wrestler’s back piece. 

Finally getting into the chair settled her raging nerves. June once again traced out the design in marker, dutifully widening each segment Katara pointed out. It stood out on her willowy frame and the artist made sure Katara realized that.

“I want it that way,” she said as she studied the placement in a mirror. “It’s supposed to be visible.”

The needle bit her skin. She inhaled sharply, earning a quiet reprimand from the artist. Katara learned to exhale, to loosen her muscles, to let the pain dull to an ache. 

“That’s better.”

* * *

There were other artists in the bender’s districts. Katara didn’t want to go to them. They might question why she was getting designs meant for the warriors instead of those that venerated her chi or the chakras.

June didn’t ask questions. It made it easy for Katara to drop by with a new letter and a new request for a design. “My brother is in the Navy,” she explained. “I haven’t seen him since he graduated.” 

The artist hummed in understanding as she erased a line on the sketch. “I don’t suppose you have any family in the upper districts?” Katara wondered. Her question lingered in the air while June remained focused on the design in front of her. The pencil hovered in the air, just for a moment as June nodded her head tightly. 

Katara felt her heart twist as she saw her own face reflected in June’s tired sadness. “I figured that’s why you live in no-man’s land.”

* * *

Talking through the ache and bite of the needle was cathartic. June didn’t reply often, her focus entirely on the tender flesh under her machine. If she spoke it was brief, usually when she switched machines or changed gloves. Once she joked that she was going to set aside a box of gloves just for Katara’s pieces. 

Katara didn’t care that she was speaking to open air. Her pieces were beautiful and she could wear her brother’s successes proudly. 

* * *

This letter she brought was different than before. It was coiled tightly in a wooden case with golden caps to protect it. June’s ashen face told Katara that she was just as familiar with the notice inside.

“He got hurt so they don’t want him anymore,” Katara spat. She rolled the case between her hands as June leaned over her sketching table. “He’s back in the city, but he might as well not be. I’m still never going to see him.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Katara regretted saying them. June had tensed visibly. Her sister hadn’t gotten to come home. 

June’s motions remained stiff as she worked up the netting that would wrap around Katara’s ankle. This would be it for tributes, Katara realized. There wasn’t anything else to replicate, no more honors to echo on her arms or legs. Just a fragment of her brother’s new livelihood that wouldn’t get to change for decades. 

* * *

She was out of letters.

She still took the tram to the shop. 

She found different memories to etch into her skin. 

The warrior tattoos had been easy to design. June could mimic the style with very little prodding from Katara or the hazy photographs that she brought in. Now Katara had only vague ideas to bring to the table. But she had to bring something. Otherwise, she… There was no otherwise. 

“My mother left us when we were young. She was taken. They found out she was a bender and she didn’t have time to flee,” Katara hissed. She was on her side, facing away from June as she dragged a line across her ribs. It was like fire and ice, searing pain. 

Katara sucked in desperate breaths when June rolled away to change gloves. Tears pricked at her eyes as the motion only further aggravated her burning skin. “She said how she wanted to fly away, just a few nights before they came for her.” 

June cut the session short just a half hour later. The owl’s head was twisted to stare at Katara when she looked at the unfinished tattoo in the mirror. She’d have blue eyes when they got to that part, Katara decided. 

For a week, she slept on her back and tried to keep from rolling onto the tender flesh. Her fingers trailed over the flared wings and talons just about to release from the branch. It was a game she couldn’t keep from playing. How much pressure could she use before it hurt? 

Because that was the point. 

* * *

“I made the mistake of telling this jerk about my mother. And he had to get all understanding and sympathetic, which is even worse somehow. He’s a real piece of work,” Katara growled. She trailed off as June applied another thin layer of jelly on the owl’s wingspan. Only when she had readjusted to the bite of the shader once more did Katara pick up where she’d stopped.

“I keep seeing him around after that night we’d talked. You’d hate him - he’s cut from everything that’s ruined this city,” Katara said. She paused once more and her voice lost its venom.  

“He’s been asking about why I come down here. He’s the only one who’s even tried.”

* * *

The morning after June had finished the owl, Katara stared at the new ink under her skin. The feathers were shaded so light and the talons shone so darkly, it seemed to be seconds from coming to life.  

When it was this this fresh, she could actually feel the ink under her fingertips. Pools of venom, a bittersweet wine that had finally gone sour. Her fingers itched to draw it out before it poisoned her further. It had felt so critical to go under that needle that night not so long ago. 

She’d feel that urge again. Now she realized it was a need, a necessity. That clarity didn’t help dissuade her from daydreaming what she would get next - a new tribal pattern? Some design from June’s sketchbook?

Katara only waited two weeks this time. 

* * *

A dragon with scarlet scales clawed his way around Katara’s rib cage. His eyes locked with the owl across from him, and his tail wrapped tightly around to her back.

“They would have liked each other. My mother and him. He’s hot headed and nosey, but -” Katara winced as June pulled a line directly atop bone. “But he cares. For some stupid reason he cares about me.”

* * *

“I don’t want this one to mean anything,” Katara insisted. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes were bloodshot. “No red, either. Go wild with black and grey. I don’t give a damn what it ends up being.”

Zuko had made it back to Katara’s apartment the night before. He’d gotten to see the dragon and owl, too. When he looked at the blue-eyed creature in front of him, Katara had only seen pity in the dark. 

“Maybe if I stop trying to make them mean something, then I’ll be able to stop,” she echoed his suggestion to June, her voice shaking. The artist sighed before pulling out her sketchbook. She had a floral mandala that would fit nicely on Katara’s shoulder. 

* * *

Two months. About average. June only laughed when Katara suggested this would be her last.

* * *

Six.

* * *

Four. Katara had walked in with alcohol on her breath and a thousand excuses that June refused to hear.

* * *

Two and a half weeks.

* * *

June swallowed back surprise as she flipped through her mail. There was a wooden scroll case in the mix of string-tied notices. The caps were silver rather than gold, which let the air back into her lungs. It was still from the upper districts, but June took heart that it wasn’t coming directly from the governor. 

The other mail was left on the counter to be dealt with later. June clicked open the case.

_ June, _

_ It’s been an entire year. I’ve made it an entire year. It may even be longer by the time that I get up the courage to send this.  _

_ I don’t regret walking into your shop. If it hadn’t been yours, it would have been another. In fact, I’m glad that my mistakes are so well designed. I won’t be able to forget them and I can still at least bear your artistry with pride.  _

_ I wish that I had the strength to return without falling into the same cycle as before. But I know that I can’t. Even with Zuko keeping an eye on me, I can’t. I have to stay away to heal.  _

_ Sorry I can’t be your client anymore. We were so close to finishing that box of gloves, weren’t we? _

_ Goodbye, _

_ Katara _


End file.
